


A Less Miserable Christmas

by Lordoflesamis



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Christmas fic, Domestic Fluff, Joly has epilepsy, Les Amis play matchmaker, Multi, Trans Male Character, Trans Marius, fluff really, its just cuties being cute, rom com, seasonal fluff dose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordoflesamis/pseuds/Lordoflesamis
Summary: 2017 Christmas Calendar: A chapter of tooth-rotting fluff every day until Dec 25th!Everyone Cosette knows is going to have a wonderful christmas this year. Even if it means interfering with their personal lives to ensure it. AKA Les Amis help set up Enjolras with Grantaire in time for Christmas.Includes scenes with the other pairings/domestic fluff abound





	1. Friday 1st December

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So i've been meaning to do this for a while now, but basically i'm aiming to upload a new installment every day until Christmas of this story like a little fic instead of a chocolate advent calendar! Please leave kudos/reviews, they're the greatest gift you can give this christmas! ;) If you want basic descriptions of the characterisations of the characters in this fic, they're here http://maddiethewriter.tumblr.com/fanfics :D enjoy!

Friday 1st December

There were still twenty-four days until Christmas, but that means jack shit in retail. Parisians queued in three loops out the door of the humble bakery, demanding mince pies and other seasonal treats the Valjeans were soon to run out of. Behind the counter Cosette somehow maintained her composure, a sickly sweet smile on her pink (matching her pink-and-white shirt dress) lips, not a blonde curl misplaced from the ornate bun on the top of her head. Her gloved hands moved fast, with the most dexterity Grantaire, watching for a moment from the kitchen, had seen. “Thank you, please come again!” she chirped after each retreating customer’s back as they hurried to the bustling streets, struggling to balance their iced bun or keep their box of cupcakes flat on top of their shopping. 

Cosette’s father, a kind but quiet gentleman, ran the shop from an office behind the kitchen. As Grantaire turned back to whisking the eggs in front of him he could just about make out the back of Jean Valjean’s head, a silver streak through dark hair. He was hunched over his computer, accepting advance bookings no doubt. Their little shop, French Fancies, was a local favourite, and attracted its fair share of loyalty. The products were made mostly by Grantaire, a fact Eponine never failed to share her amazement for; “its odd how such big, clumsy hands can make such beautiful art and such tasty cakes!”. Cosette, despite what one would assume, given her feminine appearance and mannerisms, was a terrible chef and a disastrous baker. Marius was the only one who still ate anything she touched; even Jean Valjean made excuses and made a run for it. Focusing hard on pouring even amounts of batter into cases, Grantaire didn’t notice the entrance, despite the tinkling of the bell on the door, of a certain tall law student. 

Enjolras was not having a good day. For a start, he had caught his first cold of the season- off Courf, no doubt, who insisted on draping himself dramatically over his friend on a day-to-day basis- and his nose was red and sore. Secondly, his early lecture had been cancelled last minute, leaving him on campus three hours too early for a meeting with his personal tutor that could essentially be summed up as “Please stop protesting everything, the staff is tired”, leaving him lacking a little faith in humanity. His afternoon was not exactly brightened when he tried to take out some books from the library and found them all taken out ahead of him. Now he had walked half an hour in the (suddenly!) blistering chill to get a simple coffee and perhaps a sandwich from the only small business in this side of town to find a twenty-person queue. And, more irritatingly, it seemed to only be Cosette behind the counter today. 

“Bad day- Film night?” he put to his best friend and flat-mate Combeferre, before pocketing his phone and burying his cold-burning face in his scarf. Out of the window, across the street, he could see Musichetta taking the outside tables of the Café Musain inside for the season, laughing as jovially as she always seemed to be. Her hair was purple now. He frowned, trying to remember what colour it had been before. He knew it had been blue recently, but was there a colour in between? 

“Move up,” piped an impatient woman behind him, and one step solved the problem. Rolling his eyes, Enjolras let his mind wander once again as he watched Cosette climb a step-ladder to reach a box of artisan chocolates, marvelling at how she could glide so easily in stiletto heels. He didn’t know Cosette very well, but he had an unusual amount of respect for her, considering she had the bad judgement to date Marius and become involved with his friends. 

His heart stuttered slightly when a mop of dark curls emerged from the kitchen, bearing freshly made croissants and pain au chocolat. Grantaire always made him nervous, but it was a pleasant feeling. It was not one Enjolras was used to, nor was it one he wished to discuss with either Courfeyrac or Combeferre. Maybe because there wasn’t much to discuss. 

Grantaire waved awkwardly over the heads of a few people before ducking quickly into the other room, and Enjolras felt a deep sense of embarrassment for no conceivable reason as he returned the gesture. He thanked the universe that he hadn’t invited Courf to join him, or he’d never hear the end of it. 

“Hey Enjolras!” Cosette greeted, sincerely genial, “How’re you?”

“Good thanks, yourself?” vaguely aware of the woman behind him tensing at his audacity, Enjolras felt a smirk spread across his face.

Cosette gave him a knowing look, “Fine, bit busy lately, lots of essays due this week but Dad’s finally letting me play christmas music- what can I get you?”

“An americano please, and something sweet I don’t really care what.”

Cosette’s eyes shone slightly, “I know something sweet you’d really love,” she said with a wink. When his response did not satisfy her she rolled her eyes, “Gingerbread cupcake?”

“Sure.” Enjolras said awkwardly, cursing himself for not catching her social clue. He thought he was getting better at it. When he left the shop, Grantaire re-emerged from the kitchen, sheepishly smiling. 

Cosette rolled her eyes, “You’re terrible. Why did you hide from him like that?”

Grantaire smiled, but it was a little sad, “What else am I meant to do exactly? Now what do we need more of?”

“Don’t change the-“

“Cosette.” His voice was almost pleading, “What do we need more of?”

Cosette sighed, “I suppose you could make another cake for cakestand three, there’s only three slices of fudge cake left and I don’t think we made a new one this morning.”

“Aye aye captain!” came the reply, and Cosette smiled to herself as she pulled her phone from her apron, fully aware of the red-faced woman at the till. 

“I have an idea, but I’ll need your friends to help. Call everyone except Enjolras and Grantaire.” This Christmas, Cosette was going to make sure all her new friends were happy at Christmas. Getting to play matchmaker was just a bonus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry 2nd day of christmas!

Saturday 2nd December

When Marius had received Cosette’s text, he had been confused, but resigned: going along with Cosette’s ideas hadn’t been a bad decision yet. Organising his friends, however, in secret especially, was difficult because two of them- Combeferre and Jehan respectively- lived with the two lovebirds in this scheme. 

Frost from the night before still crept up the glass of his window as he got dressed, opting not to wear his binder as he’d worn it for so long yesterday, instead donning a baggy Christmas jumper. Eponine had bought it for him last year, and as he ran his thumb along the stitching there was no stopping the soppy smile stretching across his face for his friend. As far as he was concerned, the real task this season was beating Eponine at the gift-giving game: despite her low budget, gifts from Eponine were always personal, always perfect. This jumper, for example, had the phrase “Season’s Greetings” and a cutesy picture of cinnamon, ginger and other spices. It seemed like something Courf would wear, which is why Marius liked it so much. He did most things to remind himself of his friends, especially on grey days like this one. 

They would be meeting at Cosette’s house, rather than the Musain, because Enjolras had a habit of studying in the coffee shop, and Grantaire had a habit of turning up wherever Enjolras was. Marius was heading over a little early so that he could pick up Eponine, who didn’t go full-time to the university and so lived a little further away, so that she didn’t have to walk in the cold. 

“Such a gentleman,” she cooed, slinging a combat-booted leg into the passenger seat, “I’m digging the jumper by the way.” She smelt like cigarettes and leather- AKA Eponine. 

“Oh, er- thanks.” Marius said, flustered, “How are you?”

Eponine shrugged, “Eh, same old, same old. Tired.”

Marius nodded in affirmation, “Have you spent much time with Cosette lately? She misses you.” 

Eponine seemed taken aback. Marius briefly wondered, pulling out back into the busy street, if he was meant to say things like that. “I’ve been busy, I was meant to visit her at work yesterday but I forgot.” Eponine sounded guilty, and almost sad. Marius frowned, confused, making a note to ask Cosette about it later rather than put his foot in it now. 

They turned into Cosette’s road a little while later, almost hitting Jehan on their way to the house. They let out a squeak and leapt back from the road, and Marius shot them an apologetic grimace. Already standing outside, Courfeyrac let out a splutter of laughter, and Combeferre crossed his arms in fond exasperation. 

“God, learn to drive Pontmercy”  
“Probably shouldn’t have passed on the fifth test, huh?”  
“It’s okay, they say death is life’s greatest adventure.”

Marius hated his friends. “I’m a good driver, okay?”

“Sure you are Pontmercy,” Courf said amiably, “Sorry about ditching you for flat film night yesterday, but this one-“ he gestured to Combeferre, who was cleaning his glasses on his shirt sleeve, “Said Enjolras was in a mood and I had to save the day.” 

“You wanted to shag ‘Ferre didn’t you?” Eponine said dryly, smiling. 

Combeferre had the decency to look abashed. Courfeyrac did not. “It was a pretty nice bonus.” He smirked, slinging an arm around his taller boyfriend, having to stand on tip toe to do so. 

Cosette opened the door then, slightly flushed, all smiles, “Come on guys, you’re late!” She sang, grabbing Marius’ arm and dragging him inside.

The house, being owned by her father, was a sight better than any of their student or single-living accommodations. The room she ushered them into was a large living-room, with a flatscreen attached to the wall and three sofas. Feuilly and Bahorel occupied one of these, each clutching a cup of tea Cosette had undoubtedly offered them several times already. On the other sat Musichetta and Bousset, the latter holding hands with Joly who was in his wheelchair today, looking a little bit worse for wear. Marius remembered then that he’d recently changed his medication, and that he’d forgotten to ask Joly about how it was going. 

“Do none of you have anything better to be doing with your morning?” Cosette’s father asked sarcastically from the room beyond the opposite door, smile evident before he came into sight. 

“Good morning Sir,” Marius said quickly, suddenly hyper aware of his hand in Cosette’s. Cosette seemed oblivious to her father’s pretend suspicion, but Marius felt immediately hot under his raised-eyebrow look. 

“Hello, Marius. And all of your friends. Don’t you have university to go to?”

“Yeah but it’s deadline season,” Courf piped up, “And we’re procrastinating.”

Jean Valjean smiled, “Sounds sensible. Cosette if you need me I’ll be in the shop.” 

“Okay dad, I’ll come help as soon as possible!” 

As soon as the front door shut, Cosette quickly counted them, “Okay, this is serious busin- wait I didn’t offer you tea- tea anyone?”

Marius smiled, and took a seat. It was going to be a long discussion, he could tell. 

~

The evenings were unreasonably cold and unfathomably dark. Grantaire shivered slightly and rubbed his hands together as he double-checked the bus timetable. It had said “due” for ten minutes now, and it wasn’t getting any warmer. He looked to the sky, grimacing at the introduction of cold wind to his neck, and cursed himself for agreeing to help in the shop late. He still had to finish his art coursework, and painting was getting harder and harder to motivate himself to do when he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours a night. He couldn’t wait for the winter break, and even though he wasn’t a fan of the holidays (the ones he celebrated or the ones he didn’t) he was looking forward to the various activities his friends had planned.   
He had been standing by the bus-stop in thought for almost half an hour when a car approached. In the darkness, the lights prevented any view of the driver, but they slowed to a stop just in front of the stop. By instinct, Grantaire took a few steps back, only to be surprised when the driver’s hand door opened and Enjolras stepped out the car.

“Hey.” The other man greeted, and Grantaire became aware he was meant to respond a few seconds later.

“Hi.”

Enjolras swallowed, then glanced around, “Erm… do you need a lift?”

There was silence while Grantaire weighed his options. He could say no and wait indefinitely in the cold. Or he could say yes, and it would be fine and they would chat like friends and nothing weird would happen. Or he could say yes, and feel guilty for the next week for putting Enjolras out. Or he could say yes and say something on the way to make Enjolras hate him. Grantaire suddenly felt hot, as if it wasn’t minus one outside. 

Enjolras glanced down the road, where several cars were whizzing past. No sign of any buses. He turned back to Grantaire, frowning slightly, “Just get in.” 

Christmas music was playing on the radio. Grantaire rapped his knuckles on the dashboard in time to the beat, and Enjolras smiled despite his internal attempts not to. To prevent it turning overly-affectionate he cleared his throat and, lifting his chin slightly asked “How was work?”

Grantaire hummed, “Busy, but otherwise fine. How was your day?”

“Good.” Was the reply. Then, after a few beats of Mariah Carey, “I finished that essay on feminism within communist communities.” Enjolras turned his head slightly towards his passenger, bright eyes still on the road, “I’d love for you to have a read through if you don’t mind and if you have the time.

Grantaire did not have the time. “It would be my honour, Apollo.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes at the nickname, but smiled anyway, “Thank you.”

Grantaire’s flat was on an extremely “studenty” street, and Enjolras chuckled at the shopping trolley in the front garden, “Is that a stolen trolley I see there?”

“You can’t prove anything,” Grantaire grinned, stepping out of the car, “Thanks again, you sure you don’t want any money for petrol?”

To his surprise Enjolras smiled fondly at him, “It’s fine. I didn’t have a boring drive home, that’s payment enough.”

“Oh” was all Grantaire managed, feeling a little bit on the spot.

Enjolras laughed a little nervously, then waved as Grantaire shut the door. As his car disappeared into the darkness, Grantaire felt his heart palpitate slightly in his chest, and made a mental note to not overthink things.   
As he drove away, Enjolras made a note to act properly from now on, and to stop being so obvious- if Grantaire felt the same way he would have responded by now, he needed to let it go. And talk to Combeferre about whether or not it was wrong of him to not have told Grantaire that he’d driven past the bus, just one stop away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and or kudos, they really do make my day! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 3rd of december guys! Hope you're enjoying the story!

Sunday 3rd December

The third gift Jehan received mysteriously on their windowsill was tied rather neatly with a white bow on black paper. All of the gifts had been very aesthetically pleasing, as if the person who was leaving them took a great deal of care in how they were presented. More importantly, they were personalised, and each night Jehan felt a little bit giddy with anticipation for its arrival the next day. 

They hadn’t mentioned these gifts to any of their friends not because they were particularly interested in keeping them secret, but because they assumed they’d get cautionary tales as a response. Such as, “don’t leave your window open every night in DECEMBER to let some STRANGER leave you REALLY WEIRD gifts please”. But Jehan was, despite what one would think, not one to put caution before romance. 

Jehan gently removed the tag attached to the top of the parcel, which read “I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched” in neat calligraphy. An Edgar Allan Poe quote. They knew Jehan well. Jehan stuck the card on the wall beside the previous two, a quote from Keats and Byron, and unwrapped the parcel. An anatomically correct heart pendant for a necklace sat inside the small box, with another note “I was going to get you a real heart, but apparently it’s impossible to remove one’s own and survive, and frowned upon to murder.” 

Jehan felt a smile on their face without warning, and it was with slightly trembling fingers that they put the heart on string, and hung it around their neck. There was a sudden knock on the door, and Jehan quickly put the box under their bed, “Come in.”

Grantaire stood in the doorway, dishevelled from sleep but looking surprisingly happy, “Breakfast at the Musain? Musichetta’s invited us.” 

Jehan smiled, as if they didn’t know about the invitation already, “Sounds good. Let me get dressed.”

“Great,” Grantaire said, making a clicking sound with his tongue and shooting finger-guns at his friend, “See you downstairs in 20.” 

~

Contrary to all appearances of function, Enjolras was not a morning person. It took Combeferre several attempts of bargaining and, eventually, threats to awaken their fearless leader, and about half an hour to convince him to change out of his pyjamas. 

As they walked to the Musain, Combeferre smirked at Enjolras’ attempts to keep his eyes open properly, and thought again about how grumpy he knew his friend to be in the morning, and how funny he thought it was that the others had no idea how bad the idea of a breakfast date was. 

Musichetta and Cosette were already there when they arrived, giggling and whispering to themselves, no doubt about how endearing they found Enjolras’ sleep-deprived look. ‘Chetta waved them over, quickly saying something to Cosette that made her throw back her head and laugh, before straightening out her face. 

“Good morning,” Cosette greeted, and was replied to with a grunt from Enjolras.

“Who gets breakfast at half eight in the morning on a sunday?” he grumbled, sitting down with a yawn.

“People who have better things to do with their weekend then sleep it away!” Musichetta teased.

“So Courf won’t be joining us then?” Enjolras asked, and they laughed for a little. Courfeyrac wasn’t known to be moody in the morning because he didn’t tend to see the morning; his breakfasts occurred anywhere between 12-4 on weekends. How Enjolras envied him in this moment. 

“Only my boyfriends,Jehan and R are coming, the others have stuff to do.” Musichetta said, “Though to be honest I can’t see what’s so important you can’t have a few early morning mimosas!” clinking her glass with Cosette. 

They all pointedly ignored the way Enjolras corrected his posture at the mention of Grantaire’s arrival. 

“How can you drink in the morning?” Combeferre asked, laughing.

“There’s not a time limit for drinking!” came a familiar low voice from the doorway, followed by a surprised laugh from the girls. Grantaire and Jehan had arrived, the former looking much more chipper than usual, the latter looking as bemused.

Enjolras whipped his head back round to face Cosette, feeling flush creeping up his face after seeing Grantaire beam like that. It didn’t help he was wearing that shirt, that dark blue plaid shirt with the paint splatters on the collar. That shirt Enjolras had sworn at one point was God-given for the way it showed off Grantaire’s surprisingly muscular form. The same shirt he, a few minutes later had sworn was from Satan himself for the same reason. And, to stress how unusual it was that he felt this way, it should be known to the reader that Enjolras was an atheist.

Grantaire took the seat Jehan offered to him, directly opposite Enjolras, who felt his chest tighten with an anxiety he wasn’t familiar with. He cleared his throat and folded his hands together on the table in front of him, glancing sideways at Combeferre’s forced neutral expression. 

“I like your necklace, Jehan,” Combeferre said, after a long pause of comfortable silence. The others murmured agreements while Jehan smiled a thank you.

“When did you get that?” Grantaire asked, frowning slightly through his smile.

“A while ago.” Jehan said quickly. The others looked at each other in confusion, not at their words but at the suspicious way they had said them.

“Okay” Grantaire said finally, and smiled, “Have any of you ordered?” He asked the rest of the group, all smiles again. 

“We were waiting for you, Joly and Bousset” Cosette said, “But we’re all here now- oh no.” Suddenly, she put her hand to her face, the perfect picture of shock, “I’m meant to be meeting Marius! Combeferre, I don’t mean to be awful but do you mind driving me?”

Combeferre was already standing (which in hindsight they should have found suspicious in itself) “Of course not. Sorry guys.” He waved as they left the café together. 

Musichetta shrugged, feigning ignorance at Grantaire’s look.

“Where are your boyfriends, speaking of?” He asked, suddenly, and she rolled her eyes.

“Late as usual. Can’t wait to hear their ex-“

“’Chetta!” Came Bousset’s shout from the doorway, and they turned to see the infamous duo in all their glory; Joly looking increasingly concerned and Bousset with his leg in a cast. 

“You’re late.” Musichetta deadpanned, before a grin spread across her face, “Come on I’m starving!”

“Sorry,” Joly said as Bousset pulled out a chair for him, “We got caught up. Bouss cut himself shaving again and-“

“He spent like fifteen minutes sanitising it,” Bousset finished, patting Grantaire’s shoulder as he sat beside him, “Sup homefry?”

“Hey dude,” Grantaire laughed, “nothing much, tired from my stupid finals project.”

“What’s it on again?” Joly asked, a knowing smile on his face.

Grantaire blushed, though he wasn’t sure what the expression was for, “We had to do a series on happiness. I’m doing paintings for it. I have to make ten pieces for it so I’m busy lately.”

“What are you painting?” asked Cosette, leaning forward. 

Grantaire gave a shy smile, eyes darting around until they landed on Enjolras, “It’s a surprise”. 

Before Enjolras could process that, in his sleepy state, Jehan stood suddenly, “Shit I’m so sorry I just realised I left candles on in my room, I’ll be right back. Order without me, I’ll get something to eat later” and with that they left Grantaire with, essentially, a couple and the guy he was madly in love with. Goddammit Jehan. It would be okay, Grantaire thought, turning to talk to Bousset, but stopping when he saw the three of them talking amongst themselves, hands clasped in Joly’s lap in the middle. 

Swallowing, he turned to look at Enjolras, who was looking at the trio with a look of utter disgust that took Grantaire aback with delight. “Jesus Christ Apollo could you look any more murderous if you tried?”

Enjolras blinked, face falling slack slightly, “I-er- I’m just tired.”

Grantaire nodded, leaning back in his seat, “So, not a morning person huh?”

“I enjoy mornings good enough. Tucked up in bed with a cup of tea and pajamas.” Enjolras muttered, no clear attempt to be personable this morning. Grantaire should have found it off-putting, not sweet. Why did he find it sweet? 

“What an image of our fearless leader,” He said, feeling the need to make Enjolras smile- even if it was an incredibly reluctant one. 

To his surprise, Enjolras blushed, and lifted the menu to hide it, “What kind of thing do you eat at these breakfast meals, then, if you drink with it?”

Grantaire swallowed the nerves before glancing down at his own menu, “I don’t usually make it to these things, but I’m always a slut for bacon.”

Enjolras let out what might have been a snort of laughter or disdain, he didn’t look up quick enough to see. But he was met with a gently disapproving smile, and felt his own cheeks redden under the beauty.

“Can I take your order?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Musichetta answered for the group, and the men all rushed to choose their breakfasts. 

 

It took them both a few hours after they had departed to realise they’d been set up on a double-date.


End file.
